Backfire
by enigma013
Summary: A political drama centered on Katniss's rise to power on her quest to aid the districts and the rebels. It's just another Hunger Games on a different battle field. AU. Rated T for language.


**A/N: Hey guys, this is just something I have to do for an assignment anyway, so I thought I'd share it. Let me know what's up. (-:**

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**ONE**

The sun glared upon the ground, reflecting the surrounding scene in a gruesome light. Crowds surged forward, contentious beasts creating a tumult of clamor as the train came to a halt before them. But I couldn't perceive their angry faces, their protesting. Instead, I saw the congregation of excitement that greeted me ten years prior, the day I arrived in the Capitol as a tribute for the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. They were vicious. Death had once elicited enthusiasm from them before, but now that their cushioned lifestyles were threatened, they only evinced abhorrence.

"Katniss?"

Effie Trinket stood at my elbow, seemingly oblivious to the strife stirring outside the window. She ushered me to sit once more while she attempted to smear a coat of makeup on my face. I ducked out of reach, cringing.

"What are you doing?"

She gave me a disapproving look. "We can't have you debuting looking like _that_, now can we?"

Like an actual human being? _Heavens_ no.

"It's an election," I said reasonably. "Not a beauty pageant."

"Maybe not to you," was all she said as she went about making me look like an alien.

My attention returned to the Capitol's populace, growing more irate as they awaited my entrance. Peacekeepers dotted the scene and tried to quell them as barriers were set up, leading the way to the hovercraft just beyond the first mob of people.

I wasn't aware of Haymitch's presence until the smell of booze reached my nose.

"Look at that," he said, a slur mingling his words as he gazed outside, sloshing a glass of scotch as he pointed. "They _love_ you."

I rolled my eyes. "Where have you been? You were supposed to coach me through this an hour ago."

"Relax," he said, plopping on the couch before me. "We've got time."

"Yeah," I deadpanned. "Five minutes." I watched him knock back the rest of his drink, growing aggravated. "You gave me a _day's_ notice for this. I don't even know what I'm supposed to stand for."

He had the nerve to look put-out. "What do you _think_ you stand for?"

Glancing out at the throngs of people, each one corpulent, well fed, supplied with lavish comforts while my friends and family back home faced oppression and starvation, one word surfaced in my mind and echoed. "Freedom."

"Well there you go. Freedom." His tone was distorted by an undercurrent of cynicism.

Effie's face brightened as she tugged on my hair, attempting to untangle it; she was the reverse of Haymitch: optimistic, ignorant, a megalomaniac. "What about what you said yesterday? About restoring their rights?"

"How am I supposed to do any of that when I have to deal with _them_?" I nodded at the malicious assemblage heaving against the Peacekeeper's best efforts to contain them. Doubtful didn't even graze the surface of how I felt about this.

"Do what you always do," Haymitch said gruffly, pouring another drink. He fixed me with a level stare. "Lie."

"But don't forget to smile," Effie added cheerily.

"And try to forget," Haymitch continued, disgruntled by Effie's effusiveness, "if you say one wrong word, you're probably dead." He eyed a Peacekeeper standing guard outside the door with disdain, raising the glass to his lips. "They sure as hell don't work for us."

Maybe Haymitch was right. I survived by spinning lies before, back in the arena. This wasn't much different; in fact, the stakes were higher. I never wanted to do this, to run for President of a country I don't even like. Somehow Haymitch had convinced me I should. I did not solely carry my own fate with me, but the fate of the District's people, too. Lives depended on this.

No pressure.

"So let's hear it," Haymitch prompted me expectantly, evidently only half lucid due to the degree of his inebriation.

He meant the list of beliefs he assigned me to write yesterday; not _my_ beliefs, but the amassed beliefs of the rebels. There was a piece of lined paper on the table before me that I'd scratched notes on during the duration of the train ride. Effie had to help me with the terms. Okay—honestly, she wrote the whole thing. I plucked it up. It still wasn't much.

"I want there to be District governments independent from the national government," I began, my brow furrowed dubiously. I glanced up at Effie to make sure I was doing this right; she nodded at me encouragingly. "I want to establish an equal and effective monetary system, create open trade among the Districts goods, tax the Capitol citizens to aid in providing basic provisions for the District people—"I stopped, scanning over the last few words. It wasn't so bad, being the rebel's puppet to run for office—at least I supported these things, too. But maybe I could finally accomplish what has taken me the past decade to do: "And I'd like to end the Hunger Games."

Effie clapped her hands merrily, a pleased smile on her face. Haymitch was appraising me with a disparaging look.

"Well," he said at last, "at least you _sound_ smart."

I scowled at him. Effie began chattering animatedly about what would happen if we won, oblivious to the very real chance that we probably wouldn't.

My main advisor was a drunk and my possible future press secretary was a dizzying megalomaniac. No, this wasn't going to go well.

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**Review if I should bother to post more.**


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